


Goin' Back to Cali

by rainpuddle13



Category: Twilight RPF
Genre: F/M, Prompt Fic, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-25
Updated: 2012-09-25
Packaged: 2017-11-15 01:01:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/521412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainpuddle13/pseuds/rainpuddle13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rob and Kris attempt to escape LAX after returning from Montreal. Written for the LJ community fityouinmyheart's September photo prompt challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Goin' Back to Cali

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. I also have no claims on Robert Pattinson, Kristen Stewart, or anyone associated with them. All events that take place within the story are a work of fiction.
> 
> Challenge Info: Submit a fic of at least 500 words about what you imagine was happening in the photo. Or whatever you feel like writing about it

    
She was almost afraid to look back at her boyfriend, frightened of the look she might see on his face. The flight from Montreal to LAX had been less than pleasant. Normally flight time was a reprieve from the asshats that stalked them through airports, but not this time. One of them had thought it’d be brilliant to book a ticket on their flight.  
  
The bastard sat three rows behind them in the opposite aisle.  
  
A restful flight it was not. Rob fidgeted, huffed and grumbled nearly the entire five hours which in turn her to be restless. Reading was ruled out almost immediately, so she opted to pretend to watch _The Wedding Singer_ on demand. She didn’t laugh once.  
  
The worst part of it all was she couldn’t comfort her boyfriend because even the simplest of gestures would be breathlessly reported on all the gossip sites within ten minutes of landing.  
  
“Go!” was all Rob’d said to her the second she’d gathered up her carry-on bag. He’d even given her a little nudge from behind for good measure.  
  
“Rob,” she’d started to say, but the dark look in his eyes stopped her from any protest she might mount. His normal modus operandi was to run interference for her in airports, hating the photographers who tried to get in her face and made obscene comments. He did his best to shield her from all of that. How he managed not to lose his cool, she had no idea, because she was always pushed to the brink.  
  
Kristen hurried along in front of Rob, in unfamiliar territory. John followed up the rear as they hurried through the terminal after clearing customs. She was walking as fast as she could, trying to keep up with the woman from the car service and not run into anyone, or worst, fall on her ass like she nearly did in Montreal.  
  
Unable to stand it any longer, she hazarded a glance over her shoulder, blowing long tendrils of golden brown hair from her eyes, and was relieved to see her boyfriend not three paces behind her. Rob had a stony expression on his face behind the dark sunglasses; he clearly wasn’t pleased, but he picked up the pace so he was walking more or less beside her.  
  
An act of solidarity.  
  
Unspoken acknowledgement between them that their relationship was now much more fact than fiction, and they were going to have to deal with it in their own way and on their own terms.  
  
“In you go,” John said, opening the door of their ride for her once they’d cleared the terminal and doing his best to block cameras from being stuck right in her face. “All the way over.”  
  
She dodged one last photographer, practically diving into the backseat, putting her foot up on the center console to help leverage herself over into the far seat to make room for Rob. It was difficult pretending she couldn’t see the paps surrounding the black SUV or hear them ask Rob what it was like to bang the bitchface.  
  
In a fit of extreme petulance, she flipped off the photographer sprawled across the hood of the truck. She knew he was trying for a money shot and she was damned if she’d give him one, or at least the one he wanted. They could all die in a fire as far as she fucking cared.  
  
Her acrimony earned an approving smirk from Rob once he joined her in the backseat, very conscious of keeping his distance while they were still cornered quarry. John sighed as he climbed in the front seat, giving instructions to the driver to “run the little shits over” if he had to in order to get out of the parking lot.  
  
Once they hit the interstate and they were feeling somewhat safe behind the dark tinted glass, Rob turned to face her. “I’m sorry, Kris.”  
  
She reached over to take his hand, lacing her much smaller fingers with his. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, baby.”  
  
“This is all my fault, damnit.”  
  
“Shhh, don’t even think it.” She hated when he had these little moments of self-doubt, as if he could change anything about their batshit insane lives.   
  
He signed deeply, closing his eyes and letting his head fall back on the headrest with a soft thud. “If I’d stayed in L.A....”  
  
“Don’t even let yourself think it, Robert Thomas!” she admonished.   
  
“Kristen,” he whined.  
  
She squirmed around in the seat to face him, reaching up with her other hand to force him to turn his head and look her in the eye. “Don’t you dare “Kristen” me, buddy boy,” she growled. “I’m in this for the long haul because I love you. If you can’t handle that, handle us, then you need to tell me now before we go any further.”  
  
“Uh, guys,” John interrupted, “I hate to tell you this, but we’re being followed by at least four cars of vultures.”  
  
Kristen whipped around to look out the back window, and sure enough they were being chased. The lead car behind them gave new meaning to tailgating. She was pretty sure someone would die if their driver suddenly slammed on brakes, and she’d much rather it not be her or Rob. “What the hell? That’s dangerous!”  
  
“Fucking bastards,” Rob hissed, glaring out the side window at a pair of paparazzi on a motorcycle, weaving dangerously in and out of traffic in an effort to keep up. “That’s fucking it!”  
  
“Rob!” she cried, grabbing his arm as sudden panic started to rise to the surface. “What’re you gonna do?” All kinds of crazy scenarios flashed through her mind, each one worse than the next, and all of them ending badly.  
  
As if he could read her mind, John turned in the front seat to look questionably at the lanky boy next to her. “Rob?”  
  
“Take us to the nearest police station,” he said calmly, more calm than she ever thought he would be in this type of situation. “I’m taking our lives back starting right fucking now.”


End file.
